


they are the cycle

by fitzefitcher



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Cracktober 2018, Cracktober Writing Challenge, Gen, I took my entry way too seriously wheezes ;;;, M/M, Prophetic Visions, can be read as shippy but it's not necessarily that, lord help me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-22
Updated: 2018-10-22
Packaged: 2019-08-05 18:51:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16373099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fitzefitcher/pseuds/fitzefitcher
Summary: Sometime after retreating back to Karazhan, Khadgar is approached by a strange visitor.Done for the Cracktober writing challenge on the Warcraft Hell Discord.





	they are the cycle

There is a strange figure, standing at the foot of the tower.

Khadgar can’t say for certain if it’s just one person or two, because the huge, hulking shape appeared to be one, singular person from the window of the library in which he sat, but now that he’s threshold, peeking through the door, he’s not so sure. He’s… fairly certain it’s still one singular shape, but he can hear two separate voices, having a running dialogue with each other, one higher-pitched and chattering endlessly while the other, deeper, raspier, mostly just tolerated it and gave one-word and one-sentence answers. Through the peephole, he still only sees one shape, one body, but he can faintly see the outline of a second head just beyond the line of sight the peephole provides, behind the bars of the iron gate sealing the entrance shut.

It wouldn’t be the strangest thing he’s seen, admittedly, in his time on this earth and others, but it doesn’t paint a particularly reassuring image, either; he’s dealt with ogres very little, and none of if was especially pleasant, most of it happening within the space of the first and second wars, and some isolated incidents during his time in Shattrath. Nothing like this, however, where one far larger and far stranger than the ones he’s seen walks right up to the door of Karazhan and demands to be let in. He’d heard the calls from the library he’d settled in for the day, confused at first, then intrigued what could be loud enough to be heard from there. The answer was ogres, apparently. They don’t appear to be leaving any time soon.

Khadgar opens the door a crack and pokes his head out.

“Yes?” he asks, already bracing himself for the answer.

“I would speak with you, Guardian,” the right head says. The other one, with one eye, mutters to itself, distracted. They are ancient, clearly, their skin withered and wrinkled, body is covered in scars. Their age doesn’t seem to have detracted from their sheer physical strength that much; they’re enormous, far taller and more muscular than any other ogre he’s seen, and radiating strange, dark magic.  There doesn’t seem to be much hair left on their body, save for the silvery strands on the first head’s mustache and beard, but the one-eyed head, bafflingly, has somehow held onto a rich red color in their beard, despite this. There are some streaks of white running through it, true, but for the most part, it’s an eye-catching red that looks like copper in the pale light of Dreadwind pass.

There is something disconcertingly familiar about this ogre, about their strange scars and intimidating visage, but he is certain they have never met before. He is just as certain that he knows them from somewhere, but the answer lies just out of reach.

“I’m not the Guardian,” Khadgar tells them a little tiredly. “The real Guardian is dead. But it’s an easy mistake to make, I suppose, and death doesn’t seem to be stopping him much, nowadays.” He’s too old for this; he’s been too old for the past couple decades. The two-eyed head gives him a wry look.

“Do you not come to Azeroth’s aid when she calls to you?” the one-eyed head asks. “Did you not come to her aid, time after time? Did you not hunt down her enemies, her devils and demons across the twisting nether and back again for her? Is she not your true cause, your true master?”

Khadgar grimaces.

“Fair enough,” he allows. “But I’m still not the Guardian. And I’m certainly not the only one who fights for Azeroth.”

“Semantics,” the first head says. “You are the Guardian. You carry the staff-”

_“You bear the burden,”_ the second one says, between the first one’s words. They don’t appear to notice or care, as it doesn’t affect their speech at all, even when the second one continues muttering to itself.

_“You fly the raven’s path, you are the third eye that watches the world-”_

“You are the Guardian,” the first head finishes. “For all intents and purposes,” they add on, when they see Khadgar try and argue. He sighs.

“What do you want, then?” he asks.

“This world is to meet its end,” the first head says. “We need your help to stop it.”

“We have seen it,” the second head tells him. “The sword has pierced the heart, and blood fills the lungs. We must cauterize the hallowed wound, we must gather the holy blood. The rival of our master seeks domination of this world, and we must not allow this to come to pass.”

“Your,” Khadgar stutters, realization striking him like a lightning bolt. “Your _master-”_

“Yes,” Cho says. “Our master.”

“He who dreams the dark dream,” Gall mutters reverently. “He of countless eyes and sight infinite,” he continues, and would probably continue further if his other half didn’t shush him.

_“Leave,”_ Khadgar orders them, shaken. “I don’t know how you’ve survived all this time, or why you thought _me_ of all people could help you, but I will hear no more of this. Leave now; I won’t say it again.”

“We will not,” Cho tells him, adamant. “You must be the one to help us.”

“Why bother, then,” Khadgar snaps, a little hysterical. “Isn’t this what you want?”

“This is not the way,” Cho says. “Our master will suffer no rivals, and he cannot rule his mighty empire once more if there is no empire to rule. I have seen this world’s true end with my own eyes, and its glorious rebirth, and this is not it. But Azeroth has been wounded deeply, and she will die if no one is there to mend her wounds. Or worse still, the Corrupter will succeed, and twist the world into his image.”

“Get your cultist minions to do it, then,” Khadgar tells them, becoming more irritated than fearful.

“The Twilight’s Hammer isn’t as strong as it once was. I have very few of my adherents left,” Cho explains patiently, as if he were calming a child. “The Alliance and Horde slew nearly all of them, you know.”

There’s an odd sort of pause, where Khadgar has no idea what to say in response to this, but Gall continues.

“They will not stop it,” he says, suddenly and unnervingly coherent. “You know this. They know this. They do not care about anything, save for cutting down their fated other where they stand. You’ve seen them, you’ve seen their power, their potential wasted on petty squabbling. You know how easy it will be for the Corruptor to tear them down. The earth will bleed out, and they will be too busy lapping at her wounds to stop it. They have drunk of the golden ichor, and they will not stop until they have had their fill.”

“It must be you, Guardian,” Gall tells him, fervent. “You must be the one to undo the earth-mother’s wounds. You are the only one who will.”

Khadgar says nothing, thinking to himself. Unfortunately, he can admit to himself that the Alliance and Horde’s…. obsession with each other tends to overrule all other concerns they have. Somehow, someway, they always manage to fight one other. They’ve chased each other across continents, across planets, across entire realms, and there is seemingly nothing that will slate their bloodlust for each other. They have destroyed everything that ever got in their way of the other and absorbed anyone who survived into their collective. He’s watched it happen, before his eyes, again and again, with all who encountered them. Even their most recent allies, neutral at first, even friendly with the other faction, were so quick to turn on them when their respective patrons chose them. He was so sure the Nightborne would stay on good terms with both, and that the Lightforged would too, he was so sure that the bonds of battle would be something to build off of, and yet-

And _yet-_

And yet, not even months later, they’re at war _again,_ and-

“They will not break the cycle,” Cho tells him, as if directly voicing his thoughts.

“They _are_ the cycle,” Gall finishes. “They are the war and the blood, they are the hatred and the violence. They are the cycle and it will not end. They will not break it.”

“I,” Khadgar starts. He sighs deeply. “I… I know.”

“It does not have to be this way,” Cho says. “Come. Let us in. Let us show you what we have seen.”

“The earth-mother speaks, and she speaks through us,” Gall says.

Khadgar goes quiet again, thinking. The conclusion comes quicker than he’d thought, and he’s not so sure he’s comfortable with how easily he’d been convinced to venture out into the world again. But it is no less undeniable, and he knows what must be done.

“Fine,” Khadgar says. “Show me what you’ve seen, then.”

Khadgar opens the gate, and Cho’gall enters as if this had been inevitable. And it was, Khadgar supposes.

**Author's Note:**

> stares @ my hands thinking about the real-time consequences of the horde and alliance being utterly fucking obsessed with each other fucks me up additionally I didn't realize that I had taken this too seriously until we read them out loud and everyone else's was really funny and meanwhile my miserable raised-catholic ass came up with this


End file.
